


The Least He Can Do

by Smirkdoctor (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, F/M, It’s all Sherlock’s fault, Molly gets hers, canon scene remix, in the lab
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 22:51:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13491465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Smirkdoctor
Summary: The anger Molly feels in the lab during His Last Vow wasn’t calmed by that slap. Left alone with Wiggins, how will she work out that tension?





	The Least He Can Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dmellieon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dmellieon/gifts), [Amythe3lder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amythe3lder/gifts).



> I hereby launch the good ship Wiggly, dedicated to Dee and Amy.

As she watched the door swing shut behind Sherlock, Molly’s palm was still stinging, a tattoo of the detective’s infuriating (and infuriatingly beautiful) face blazing across it. The ghost of contact with his jaw lingered on her fingertips, the ridge of his ridiculous cheekbone crossing her life and love lines. Of all the times she’d imagined her hands on that face, it had never been in anger. She’d always seen herself stroking the skin with loving care, patching up a split eyebrow, capturing intense eye contact and leaning into an achingly soft kiss.

But it was what it was. And as John marched out after his best friend, she sighed with the realization that the lab now contained only herself, a pregnant and tired-looking Mary Watson, and the ridiculous man who self-identified as “The Wig.”

She pivoted on her heel and stepped over to where Mary was wrapping the scruffy man’s wrist as he whimpered pathetically. Mary flashed her a pitying glance and suddenly Molly wanted none of it. “I think that’s your cue, Mary. I can take over, as he doesn’t seem to be responding to the caring touch of a nurse anyhow.”

Mary smiled and winked, handing Molly the roll of gauze and an ACE bandage before wrapping her thin robe tighter and knotting it between her protruding breasts and belly. She gave Wiggins a pat on the head before following the two men out of the lab.

Molly felt anger flare hot in her stomach as she turned to her patient, and she did nothing to quell the flames. She jerked the injured arm forward and Wiggins yelped before slouching back down to allow her to finish wrapping.

“How much of that charming cocktail did you give him?” Her voice was low and dangerous, rage barely concealed beneath professional detachment.  


As she began the figure-of-eight passes of the bandage around his wrist, she saw his chest puff out of the corner of her eye as he straightened with pride.

“Mr. ‘olmes has always trusted me more than every other broker. And lately he’s been entrustin’ his kit to me, when he’s off his tits...Oi, watch the wrist!”

Molly made a meal of the procedure, using rough movements to tend to the deviant’s wrist. She then discarded the appendage almost carelessly, allowing it to drop to his side. He winced and moved to cradle it gently with his left hand.  


Wiggins deflated, shrinking back in on himself as Molly stepped forward, placing their faces only inches apart.

“It’s funny…” she raked her eyes up and down the scruffy face.

“What’s that...Miss Hooper?”

She could feel the small puffs of his surprisingly fresh breath against her nose and upper lip as he slouched toward her, reacting to the trap she was setting just like she wanted. She was irate, the tingle of her hand matching the rage boiling inside her chest. It might not be entirely fair, but for her… in this room… in this instant, this man was the face of Sherlock’s self-destructive tendencies.

“...how someone who just helped to cause so much pain to so many can’t even stand to have his sprained wrist wrapped.” Suddenly, ire flashed hot through her like lightning, and before she could think, her hand was raised and she was coiling strength for another slap. She had a feeling this one might be a bit more satisfying.

But without a single blink or flick of his eyes, Bill Wiggins caught her right wrist with his good left hand. His eyes, no longer droopy, held her gaze until they, too, became suffused with pity. And Molly saw red.

She bit her lower lip and tried to decide how else she could mark that face with the brand of her displeasure.

In less than a moment, she was surging forward, slamming her lips against his mouth. Wiggins grunted in surprise and let her captured hand fall, then lifted both palms to her face.

As she felt those life-roughened fingers skitter along the angle of her jaw with such tentative sweetness, Molly melted. She let the tension that had squared her shoulders since she fielded the call from John hours ago fall away.

She swayed forward and Wiggins caught her with a quick arm looped around her waist. She gasped and he tilted his head, his tongue entering her mouth before beating a fast retreat.

Molly snapped into action. Her small hands gripped his unevenly sheared hair so hard she heard him hiss, but she didn’t care. She saw a chance to take charge, to emerge triumphant, and she took it.

Her tongue pushed into his mouth, exploring in powerful licks before pulling away to allow her teeth to massage then nip at his bottom lip.

Wiggins ripped his mouth away from hers on a gasping inhale, returning quickly to walk his lips down her neck. He paused to suck lightly where her scalene met her clavicle. She let her head fall back as she floated on the sensation.

Perhaps a minute later, Molly regained her feet and her head. Then, as if by secret agreement, she jumped to wrap her legs around Wiggins’ trim waist as he moved his arms to catch handfuls of her arse.

The friction his bony thigh was applying through her khaki trousers was a shade too rough, but that felt oh-so-right, and Molly arched her body into his. She squeaked as Wiggins stumbled forward, setting her on an empty lab table.

He stepped back from their embrace and held her, chin in hands, looking deep into her eyes.

“What can I do to make it up to you, Miss Hooper?”

Molly was speechless, breathless. This emotional whiplash on top of interrupted sleep on a bleeding Saturday morning left her lightheaded.

Taking her silence as assent, Wiggins leaned forward and placed a soft, sweet kiss on her lips and moved his left hand to the button of her trousers.

“Is this okay?” A murmur against her lips.

It shouldn’t be.

Molly Hooper, graduate physician and morgue supervisor who wilted at a glance from the Great Sherlock Holmes, shouldn’t want this. She should want cherry ices consumed on the couch, Toby on her lap and the Great British Bake Off on the telly.

But oh, she wanted. She _needed_. And goddammit, she deserved some physical satisfaction, a little something to take the edge off.

And so this strong Molly Hooper, a woman who stood up to consulting detectives and gave them smacks upside the head and what-fors when they acted like idiots, the Molly who left Tom when it was clear they were both bored, who could wear lipstick and fancy dresses and not look like an idiot...that Molly Hooper nodded, nipped at his upper lip, and panted out, “It’s the least you can do.”

*~*~*

Somehow they ended up with Molly laid out across her office desk, papers, blouse, and brassiere pushed hastily aside.

Wiggins stood between her legs, moving his hips in delicious, stuttering spirals. His uninjured left hand, callused fingers nimble from years of back-alley chemistry, moved between her left and right breast before dropping to her clit and making an absolute home there, the circling pressure matching then superseding the thrust of his (condom-clad, thank you very much) cock inside her. She released a short, moaning breath as Wiggins used his injured right hand to pull her leg higher on his hip without so much as a wince.

Molly felt the liquid lava of her orgasm rolling out from her center. It was a blazing, white-out, wonderful pleasure, and Molly moaned low in her throat, nearly purring, as she shook her head from side to side. Distantly, she felt Wiggins thrust deeply, his breath punching out of him as he froze between her thighs.

Slowly, both still panting, they disentangled and reassembled their discarded clothing. Wiggins looked longingly at Molly as she slid her arms back into her white coat and popped then refolded the collar.

“That was…”

She turned to exit the office, her hand on the knob pausing with him. “That was amazing...Miss Hooper.”

“That’s _Doctor_ Hooper to you.”


End file.
